Precautionary Measures
by Flywoman Returns
Summary: When a famous mystery author/forensic anthropologist and her partner from the FBI turn up at PPTH, House and his colleagues find that they have more in common than they might have expected. Casefic, set just after Bones 6X2 and House M.D. 7X6.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** I am not a medical doctor, nor do I write one on TV. Due to the quirks of the two shows' respective timelines this season, I took some liberties in deciding at exactly which point to align them. Also, this story is consistent with both canons through the time of setting but may deviate a bit from any episodes after that.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** If you're only reading this for the House casefic, be not afraid. I have largely confined the hardcore Bones bits to the Prologue, Chapter 6, and Epilogue, and these may be skipped entirely without damage to the medical mystery. However, I do provide a cast of characters to orient interested single-show viewers. Additional notes and acknowledgments are at the end.

**Cast of Characters**

**Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital**

_Gregory House_ – Head of Diagnostics, recovering addict, and arrogant ass

_Robert Chase_ – Intensivist and surgeon, one of House's fellows

_Eric Foreman_ – Neurologist, one of House's fellows

_Chris Taub_ – Plastic surgeon, one of House's fellows

_Martha M. Masters_ – Medical student, the new token female on House's team

_Lisa Cuddy_ – Dean of Medicine, House's girlfriend

_James Wilson_ – Head of Oncology, House's best friend

_Sam Carr _– Radiologist, Wilson's ex-wife and current girlfriend

**Forensic Division, The Jeffersonian Institute**

_Temperance Brennan_ – Forensic anthropologist and bestselling mystery author, aka "Bones"

_Angela Montenegro_ – Reconstruction artist, Brennan's best friend and co-author

_Jack Hodgins_ – Forensic scientist specializing in bugs, dirt, and slime; Angela's husband

_Camille Saroyan_ – Pathologist and head of the Forensic Division, Booth's ex-girlfriend

_Wendell Bray_ – Brennan's forensic intern, Angela's ex-boyfriend

**The Federal Bureau of Investigation**

_Seeley Booth_ – FBI agent, Brennan's longtime collaborator in criminal investigations

_Lance Sweets_ – FBI psychologist and criminal profiler

_Hannah Burley_ – Investigative journalist, Booth's girlfriend

**

* * *

Prologue: Precautionary Measures**

* * *

"Hey Sweets, you busy?"

Lance Sweets looked past his current client to his office doorway, where a familiar dark-suited figure loomed. "Actually, Agent Booth, I'm in the middle of a-"

"Great, this will only take a minute." Booth curled his fingers and beckoned Sweets surreptitiously, looking around, then stepped back expectantly from the doorway.

Sweets sighed. "Sorry about this," he told Agent Spender. "It should only take a second."

Outside, he pulled his door shut and glared up at Booth. "What's going on? Are you here for a consult on a new case?"

"No," Booth said, lowering his voice. "It's just that… Bones has been acting a little weird lately. I've had a couple headaches, and she's all freaked out about it. Well, freaked out for her, I mean. She thinks my brain tumor could be coming back and wants me to go see this famous doctor in New Jersey." He handed Sweets a slip of paper.

Sweets read the name and nodded. "I've heard of him, actually."

"Yeah, well, anyway, I've tried to tell her that it's nothing, she doesn't need to worry, but she's insisting. What do you think is going on? Has she said anything to you?"

"You know that even if she had, therapist-client privilege would prohibit me from sharing that information with you," Sweets reminded him. "But in this case, I think that the answer is obvious." When Booth just looked blankly at him, he elaborated, "A woman just changed jobs and crossed continents in order to be with you. It's only natural for her to feel threatened."

Booth shook his head. "No, Bones is fine with it. She's met Hannah, she told me she likes her."

"I would never expect Dr. Brennan to admit to these feelings. She's probably not even aware of them herself. But her subconscious anxieties are manifesting as exaggerated concerns about your health. If you want to reassure her about your relationship, you should probably let her know that you take her concerns about you seriously."

"Huh. So you think I should go along with this plan?"

"I'm not telling you what to do," Sweets answered. "I'm just giving you my interpretation and offering some options."

"Yeah," Booth said slowly. "Thanks." He clapped Sweets on the shoulder, started walking away, then turned back and pointed at him. "Bones has no real reason to be jealous of Hannah."

"Whatever you say," Sweets said skeptically once Booth was out of earshot.

* * *

"All right, here we are," Booth said with a show of enthusiasm as he pulled into the parking garage of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"I still don't see why you had to drive," Brennan grumbled. "My car gets superior gas mileage, and I am an excellent driver."

"Come on Bones, we've been over this. I like to drive, and I needed the practice after being out of the country for so long."

"Apparently you did," she said, grimacing a little as she unbuckled her belt. "I think I was close to getting carsick."

"You're kidding."

"No," she said seriously. "I've felt distinctly queasy ever since we crossed into New Jersey."

"Must've been all that swerving and swearing," Booth joked, slamming the driver's side door. "But look, here we are, all in one piece and right on time for our appointment." They walked towards the elevator together. "So how did you find out about this guy again?"

"He comes highly recommended by a colleague of mine in the Department of Anthropology at Princeton. Apparently he is the head of his department, has a national reputation among clinicians, and is extremely knowledgeable. He was also described as having a remarkable bedside manner."

The doors opened, they stepped in, and Booth pushed the button for the ground floor. "I wouldn't think that bedside manner mattered all that much to you."

"Oh, it doesn't," she confirmed. "But I thought that it might make you more cooperative."

"Cooperative? Look, Bones, I feel fine, but I know you're concerned, so here I am. Cooperating. I figure the sooner we let this doc check me out, the sooner we find out that there's nothing to worry about, and then we can go home, and things can finally get back to normal."

* * *

The nurse at the admissions desk checked Booth's insurance card and sent them up to the fourth floor for their appointment. They walked down a long glass-walled hallway past a conference room with a prominent whiteboard and four bored-looking young doctors sprawled in various positions around a table. At the end, they encountered a dark, empty office with the words "Gregory House, M.D." on the door, and below them, "Department of Diagnostic Medicine."

"Huh," Booth said. "We must have missed it."

On retracing their steps, they finally succeeded in finding the office of Dr. James Wilson, Head of Oncology. The door was open. A pleasant-looking man with a boyish face but a slight middle-aged spread rose at their entrance and came out from behind his desk to welcome them, holding out his hand. "You must be Dr. Brennan. By the way, I didn't mention this on the phone, but I am a big fan of your work."

"You follow forensic anthropology, Dr. Wilson?"

"Uh… no, I meant your mystery novels."

"Oh," Brennan said, clearly less interested. "Thank you. This is Agent Seeley Booth."

"Please have a seat, Mr. Booth. Dr. Brennan, would you like to wait outside, or…?"

"I would rather stay here," she replied, before looking questioningly at Booth. "If it's all right with you."

"Yeah, sure, Bones, it's fine. This way you can hear the good news right from the horse's mouth."

"All right. Mr. Booth, why don't you tell me, in your own words, what brings you here today?"

"A paranoid partner," Booth quipped. "And, uh, a couple of headaches. But really nothing out of the ordinary. Bones here is just worried because I had a benign brain tumor removed last year, and she wants to check that it isn't coming back."

"So, just a precautionary measure," Dr. Wilson said suavely. "Any other symptoms that you can recall? Confusion, double vision, hearing loss, lack of coordination?"

"No, not really. I, uh, have had some issues with my hearing, but that was probably on account of the gunfire."

"Gunfire?" Wilson looked surprised.

"Yeah, I was serving in Afghanistan for the past seven months. Got kind of noisy over there sometimes."

"I see. Well, I do think that there's enough here to warrant some concern. With your permission, I'll schedule a full physical examination and get you on the waitlist for an MRI so that we can make sure that your tumor hasn't returned."

"Thanks, Doc." Booth turned to his partner. "Guess you were right that this was worth checking out. Bones? Are you okay?"

For Brennan was looking woozy and swaying a little in her seat. "Actually, no," she said. "I'm sorry, I-" Suddenly she hunched forward, and a second later, vomit splattered over Booth's shoes.

Dr. Wilson leaped up again to offer Brennan a tissue. "May I?" he asked before pressing his fingers to the pulse at her wrist and then her throat. "You're running a fever, Dr. Brennan."

"Hope you didn't bring any bugs back from your trip," Booth said anxiously.

"Trip? Dr. Brennan, have you been in Afghanistan, too?"

"No, Indonesia," Brennan said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"Indonesia," Wilson repeated. "Excuse me just a minute." He sat down behind his desk again and reached for the phone. "It's Wilson. Sorry to bother you, but does House already have a case today? Good, because I think I just found one for him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One: Mystery Woman

* * *

**

It was a bright, sunny mid-morning in Jersey, and the Diagnostics team of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital could hear their boss coming all the way from the elevator. Chase and Foreman exchanged amused glances over the heads of Taub and the new med student, Martha M. Masters, whom they had covertly dubbed Sweet Sixteen. Gilbert and Sullivan could only mean one thing: House had had a good night, and that meant that they were going to have a good day. Sure enough, when House appeared, he was clear-eyed, freshly shaven, and proudly sporting a blatant purpling bruise under one ear.

"Thirty-four-year-old female presenting with fever, aches, nausea, and abdominal pain," House announced, tossing the file folder onto the conference room table and then stepping back with something suspiciously close to a smile.

"Seriously?" Foreman said in disgust. "She probably has the flu."

"Either that," Taub countered, "or she's really hot."

"Yeah. That's why Cuddy assigned me her case. Either that, or because she's been doing research in the Maluku Islands for the past seven months and might actually have contracted a rare and potentially fatal exotic disease. You pick."

"The Maluku Islands are in Indonesia," Chase observed.

"And all roads lead to Rome, except, apparently, Thirteen's," House quipped. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was a geography quiz. Did you have something more, I don't know, _medical_ to add?"

Chase sat back, folded his arms, and responded coolly, "The most common tropical diseases with those symptoms that are endemic to that area are malaria, dengue, and typhoid."

"_Great._ So why are you all still sitting here?"

The med student looked around with a small frown as the others got to their feet. "Wait, that's the differential? Do we have a plan?"

"We're going to draw blood for a CBC, Chem 7, and bacterial cultures for the typhoid, which is the most urgent risk. But those cultures will take at least a day, so we should start treating with ciproflaxin immediately while we wait for confirmation," Chase explained.

"In the meantime, we'll also do a blood smear with Giemsa stain for malaria," Foreman added.

"She's already on IV hydration and compazine for the nausea. Dengue has no specific treatment and is not as likely if there's no rash, but we'll run an ELISA to check for it just in case," Taub finished, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," House said impatiently. "Tests to run, patients to save. One of you bring me back a frozen latte when you're done. Not _you_," he added, looking pointedly at Masters. "Let one of the boys bring it, or I'll hear about it later from She Who Must Be Obeyed."

* * *

Their patient was half-sitting up, propped against her pillows, her grey-blue eyes glassy and her face flushed with fever. A tall, solidly built man in a dark suit slumped by her bedside, his jacket unbuttoned and sliding far enough open to reveal an unusually brash belt buckle as well as the strap of a sidearm.

"Good morning Doctor Brennan, Agent Booth," Foreman greeted them as the Diagnostics team filed into her room. "I'm Doctor Foreman, and these are Doctors Chase, Taub, and Masters."

"Where is Doctor House?" Brennan asked.

Chase and Foreman distinctly did not look at each other. "Doctor House generally prefers to oversee his cases from afar," Taub told Brennan.

"And usually his patients prefer it that way, too," Chase added cheekily.

"How odd," Brennan said. "Hands-on examination is essential when I am explaining diagnostic criteria to my research students."

"Yes, well, your patients have the luxury of being dead," Taub said, and was rewarded with a frown from Foreman.

"I don't understand what that means," Brennan said plaintively.

"Doctor Brennan," Masters interrupted her older colleagues, obviously anxious to get on with the testing and saving, "we'd like to draw some blood today and then start treating you for suspected typhoid while we run the labs to confirm."

"Typhoid seems very unlikely," Brennan replied, "given how experienced I am at traveling in the tropics and taking all of the necessary precautions against food- and water-borne illness. Are you exploring any other alternatives?"

"We also want to rule out malaria and dengue fever," Masters chirped.

"Those are both common in Indonesia, but, as always, I was very careful to protect myself against vector-borne diseases." She frowned. "Although I must admit that my research partner was rather less cautious, particularly on our last day there."

"Has your research partner experienced any similar symptoms?" Masters asked eagerly.

"Not that I'm aware of." Brennan looked over at Booth. "There is a marked resemblance, isn't there?"

"Before we go any further, we'll need the name of your medical proxy, Doctor Brennan," Foreman said, holding out a clipboard.

"Seeley Booth," Brennan replied promptly, scrawling her signature and handing the clipboard to her partner.

"Me? Bones, are you sure? Isn't it usually a family member? Or Cam, what about Cam? She's a doctor."

"Cam isn't here, Booth, you are. Besides, if for some reason I do lose the capacity to make my own medical decisions… I trust you to do the right thing."

He swallowed, then jerked his head in a nod and signed the paper.

* * *

"House has to meet this woman," Chase chuckled as he prepared the blood smear to screen for Plasmodium.

"She's a genius," Masters said dreamily. "Literally; she got the McArthur Award in 2005 for her investigations of nutritional impacts on hormonal remodeling of Mesoamerican skeletons."

"And what about that partner of hers? Do you think his vocabulary consists of more than monosyllabic grunts?" Chase snarked.

"He's an FBI agent," Foreman pointed out. "I'm sure he's no dummy. You're just being petty because you know he could kick your ass from here to Tuesday."

"Can't help it if Neanderthals make me nervous," Chase said. "They are an odd couple, though, aren't they?"

"Not as odd as some I could mention," Taub supplied _sotto voce_.

"Yeah, speaking of things that make me nervous," Chase said, shaking his head.

Masters looked from one man to the other. "I'm obviously missing something here."

"House and Cuddy," Chase clarified, slipping the slide in place on the microscope and adjusting the oculars.

"What about them? Doctor House seems very happy."

"He is," Foreman said. "And good for him."

"Oh, sure, he's happy _now_," Chase agreed. "But when this is over – and it's only a matter of time before Cuddy comes to her senses – the fallout will be-"

"_Apocalyptic,"_ Taub enunciated precisely.

* * *

House and his overflowing tray joined Wilson in line at the cafeteria shortly before they reached the cashier. "Is there a supersonic whistle that tells you when I'm about to purchase a meal?" Wilson asked, resigned. "Maybe some kind of bat signal?"

"Thanks for sending us a new patient," House grinned, grabbing an extra dessert. "Could be typhoid." There was suddenly more space on either side as the line compressed before and behind them.

"You're welcome. Her partner checked out fine, so at least they didn't make the trip for nothing. So do you think that Temperance Brennan is as beautiful as she looks on her back covers?"

"Dunno; haven't met her."

"Oh, come on, House, she's a famous mystery author. Don't think I've forgotten how you almost wet your pants when I told you we had Alice Tanner in our ER."

"That was _totally_ different," House huffed. "I just happen to be a big fan of Jack and the whole Cannonverse."

"Well, you should give the Kathy Reichs series a chance. They're written by a world-renowned forensic anthropologist who has almost as good an eye for detail as you do," Wilson pointed out as they sat down at their usual table. He lowered his voice and added, "Besides, the most recent one has some pretty amazing sex scenes."

House snorted, but Wilson continued undeterred, "There's this one thing on page 187 that Sam really wants me to try." House only looked at him in exasperation. "Hey, maybe Cuddy would be interested, too. Want to borrow my copy?"

"No thanks, I'm already more man than Cuddy can handle," House said, snagging one of Wilson's biggest fries and waggling it up and down in his lips suggestively. "Just try not to hurt yourself. Nothing kills the mood like having to call 911 right before the big finish. And I should know."

* * *

As he was returning from the lab with the negative results of the ELISA and Giemsa stains later that afternoon, Chase ran into a couple standing outside of his patient's room. The man was compactly built, with sandy blond curls and expressive blue eyes, while the woman was a Eurasian beauty, probably mixed Filipina, dressed with loose-fitting Bohemian flair. "Hello, I'm Doctor Chase," he said, holding out his hand. "Are you here to see Doctor Brennan?"

"Jack Hodgins," the man said, shaking it. "This is my wife, Angela Montenegro." Something about the pride with which he made that simple statement caused Chase's heart to lurch.

"Hi, Doctor Chase," Angela said warmly, taking his hand and squeezing it. "We work with Doctor Brennan at the Jeffersonian. How's she doing? Do you know what's wrong?"

"I've just returned with the results of some of her tests, but there's nothing definitive yet," Chase replied smoothly. "But we could go look in on her, if you like. Just stay well away from the bed, since we don't know for sure if she's contagious."

"Do you think it could be bird flu?" Angela asked anxiously.

"No, that wouldn't really fit with Dr. Brennan's symptoms. But there are other a lot of other possibilities. Best to be on the safe side."

At least for the moment, Booth was nowhere to be seen, but Brennan opened her eyes groggily as they entered. "Angela, Hodgins," she said with a wan smile. "You shouldn't be here."

"Oh, sweetie," Angela said immediately. "Wild horses couldn't keep us away."

"She means that we were worried about you," Hodgins put in.

"I understood what she meant by that colloquialism, but thank you," Brennan said solemnly. "But Angela, you need to be careful. The baby."

Chase cocked his head, suddenly alert. "The baby? Are you pregnant, Ms. Montenegro?"

"Well, yes, but we're not telling everyone just yet."

"I'll have to ask you to leave immediately. Not only could Doctor Brennan have a contagious disease, she is being treated with an antibiotic that could seriously harm the development of your fetus."

"Oh, God," Angela said, looking ashen. "Of course. I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll be right outside." She hurried out, arms reflexively cradling the so-far invisible convexity below her breasts.

Brennan closed her eyes with what Chase assumed was relief, then opened them again. "I've been having a terrible headache," she said. "And I feel very…" Suddenly her head snapped back as her entire body convulsed. Hodgins stared in horror as Chase grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him none too gently towards the door. "I need some help in here!" he bawled, rushing back to the bed to restrain Brennan.

As he reached her, a hulking shadow appeared in the doorway, squeezing by Hodgins, and before Chase could quite work out what was going on, he had been supplanted by the man whom he'd seen sitting silently by Brennan's side that morning. "I got her, Doc," the guy grunted, turning his partner firmly but gently on her side and holding her almost effortlessly in place against the spasms. "This a seizure or something?"

"Looks like," Chase said, nonplussed, and even more so when he almost got a gun in the eye as he bent over Brennan to examine her pupils after administering the diazepam into her IV. A pair of nurses rushed into the room belatedly, and Chase waved them away. "She seems to be stable now. Has she had seizures before?"

"Not since I've known her," Booth replied, his stony face softening now that the immediate danger had passed. He stroked Brennan's face, clumsily smoothing a stray lock of hair away from her eye. "Have you figured out what's wrong with her yet?"

_If I don't, will you kill me?_ Chase was tempted to ask, but all he said was, "This is a new symptom. We'll have to look at the results of today's tests and go from there." He left Booth staring down at Brennan, his own heart pounding, and not just from the suddenness of the response necessitated by the seizure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two: Too Much Information

* * *

**

House summed up succinctly when his team convened in his office to report back on the day's results: "Persistent nausea and abdominal pain, now with headache and seizure, no response to the Cipro, and all other tests negative. Looks like our famous patient didn't come to us with one of them famous tropical diseases after all."

"The elevated white count suggests infection, and there are still plenty of possibilities that we haven't ruled out," Foreman said. "Leptospirosis often presents with symptoms very similar to those of malaria or dengue."

"Leptospirosis wouldn't explain the seizure," Chase countered.

House cocked his head. "Maybe not, but that could have been caused by the Cipro. What else?"

"Typhus?" Masters suggested.

"Fever isn't _that_ high, and we haven't seen any rash," House said, sounding bored.

"No, _we_ haven't," Taub confirmed sardonically.

"Indonesia is also one of the most serious endemic areas of cysticercosis in the world," Chase pointed out.

"Dr. Brennan says she's a vegetarian," Masters piped up.

House only stared at her over the rims of his reading glasses. "Cysticercosis is caused by a tapeworm found in pork," she elaborated, apparently mistaking his silence for lack of comprehension. Chase and Foreman exchanged eloquent glances.

"Everybody lies," Foreman translated impatiently with a shrug. "I'll go run the blood tests."

"Hold on," House said. "If the cysts have matured, they won't be immunoreactive anymore."

"MRI?" Masters suggested, eager to redeem herself.

"MRI wouldn't reveal any difference in density between the cysts and the white matter," Foreman explained. "But an enhanced CT will show us areas of inflammation once we've killed the parasites."

"So we treat now and confirm when she gets better," House said. "If the ELISA for leptospirosis comes back positive, switch her to IV penicillin. If not, take her off the broad spectrum antibiotics and add albendazole and corticosteroids to the anti-convulsants." He turned back to his computer screen. "And let me know when the patient is ready to be discharged; Wilson wants her autograph."

"Oh, sure, _Wilson_ wants her autograph," Taub muttered under his breath as the Diagnostics team departed.

* * *

"_God_," Wilson gasped, rolling away from Sam and looking dazedly up at the ceiling, "that was incredible."

"You weren't so bad yourself," she sighed, snuggling up to him.

"I can't believe how well we still work together. It's like the years in between didn't even exist."

"Sometimes you need a little distance from something to appreciate it. In our case, I think that twenty years may have been overkill, but…"

Wilson chuckled. "It's not just the time. We're more mature now. We've changed."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course," he said. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked you to give me another chance."

"Have you told Greg yet?" Sam asked, affectionately trailing her finger down his chest.

"Not yet," Wilson admitted.

The pause was so momentary that he thought he might have imagined it. "Having second thoughts?" Sam asked, with what sounded suspiciously like forced casualness.

"What? No, of course- no. I just… don't want him to flip out."

"Your friendship seems to have survived at least a couple of marriages," Sam observed dryly.

"Yes. But look- he's fragile right now. This thing with Cuddy-"

"_James._ I could understand pussyfooting around him when he first got out of rehab. But he's been doing well, you said it yourself. And maybe this is the _best _time to tell him. He has Lisa, he's happy-"

"_Yeah_," he said with a short, skeptical laugh. "We'll how long _that _lasts."

* * *

"Oh, _god_," House groaned at the sight of the hardcover on her bedside table. "Not you _too_." He picked it up and hefted it experimentally, noting that it held no bookmark but fell open naturally to a certain spot.

"No one asked you to read it," Cuddy retorted, trying unsuccessfully to snatch it away from him.

"Wilson did," he answered absently, skimming over the page, his eyebrows rising in spite of himself.

"I don't think that particular maneuver would work on Wilson," Cuddy smirked.

"Smartass," House growled, making a grab for his favorite portion of her anatomy. In the ensuing tussle, neither noticed when the book fell to the floor.

* * *

Camille Saroyan wasn't sure what she had expected to find when she arrived at the Jeffersonian Institute early the next morning, but it certainly had not been the sight of her facial reconstruction specialist hard at work in her office instead of in New Jersey.

"Angela! We didn't expect to see you back here so soon. Has Dr. Brennan been discharged?"

"No, actually." The other woman took a deep breath, then let it out and tried to smile. "She's still pretty sick, and they're not sure what's wrong with her."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"We… thought it would be better if we came back and concentrated on identifying the murder weapon."

Dr. Saroyan was surprised. "Angela, I know Dr. Brennan appreciates a good work ethic, but it's a cold case. A few days' delay is not going to make a big difference."

"I know." Angela twisted her hands together. "But… please just trust me when I tell you that this is where I should be right now."

Cam compressed her lips. "After all you've been through together? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Cam, don't do this," Angela sighed.

"Is there something else going on that I should know about?"

"That you should know about? No."

"Fine," Cam said coldly. "I have a meeting with Ms. Julian in ten minutes, but I should be back in my office by nine if you find any leads."

* * *

"Nothin' could be finer than to be in Carolina in the mornin'…"

It was going to be another good day.

"How's our patient?" House asked, tossing a communal carton of donut holes onto the conference table. Foreman raised his eyebrows at the unusually generous gesture but forbore to comment.

"The tests for leptospirosis came back negative," Taub supplied.

"I just checked on Dr. Brennan," Chase announced, entering on House's heels, still dressed in his clothes from the previous day. "Persistent fever, headache, nausea, and abdominal pain, and I was called in at 3 a.m. for a second seizure." He slumped into his seat, dark gold hair greasy, and rubbed his reddened eyes. "The albendazole isn't working."

"Let's not be premature," House began. Chase quelled him with a long-suffering look. "Okay, let's assume just for a second that you're actually right and we need another diagnosis. What are the alternatives?"

"Lymphatic filariasis," Taub suggested. "It's endemic to Indonesia and would explain the aches and fever."

"But not the nausea and seizures," Foreman said, shaking his head. "Besides, the albendazole should have been effective against that, too."

"Nausea and seizures could have been caused by the Cipro," Taub retorted.

"_Yeah,"_ House jeered, "she blew chunks in Wilson's office in anticipation of receiving the antibiotics. Thank you for playing."

"I still think it could just be the stomach flu," Foreman said. "Explains the fever, nausea, and abdominal pain, and the fever could have triggered the seizures."

"Fever hasn't been that high, and this patient has no history of seizures," Chase countered, sounding cranky.

"I haven't heard any better ideas from you," Foreman said shortly.

"Chikungunya," Chase suggested.

"Oh, come _on_." House sounded exasperated. "Now you're just making stuff up."

"Chikungunya is a genuine disease," Masters explained eagerly. "It's caused by an alphavirus that's carried by _Aedes albopictus_ as well as _aegypti_ and…" she trailed off as she became aware of House's barely veiled amusement. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

"He just meant that there's no petechial rash, and the pain is muscular, not arthralgic," Taub interpreted. "Maybe we've missed something. No offense, Chase, but it might not hurt to examine Dr. Brennan again."

"Not trusting me to do a simple physical exam, no, why would that offend me?" Chase sneered, propping his aching head on his hand.

"I'll come with," House said unexpectedly. "It's time I met our patient." Taub glanced up, surprised, but obediently trotted along at his heels and into the hall.

Chase gave the other two a meaningful glance that was spoiled by a huge yawn. "More coffee," he muttered, and dragged himself out of his seat to go make some.

"Maybe you'd be less tired if you curtailed your recreational activities a little," Foreman suggested snidely.

"I was on _call_," Chase protested.

"_Booty _call," Masters said under her breath, with a sidelong glance at Foreman.

* * *

Wilson was in Brennan's room, clutching a copy of her latest book and apparently in the middle of an amicable conversation with the patient and her partner. Not bothering to introduce himself, House brushed past Wilson, limped over to the bed, bent over Brennan to inhale intently, and then pulled the covers back to get a good look at her legs.

Booth was on his feet and at her side more quickly than House would have expected from a man of his size. "Hey, hey! What do you think you're doing? You a doctor?"

"Booth, it's all right," Brennan tried to reassure him.

"He's not wearing a white coat, Bones," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes locked on House's as if daring the other man to try any sudden moves.

House merely looked Booth over, obviously making a series of mental notes. "Nice socks," he deadpanned.

Wilson gestured towards House with a resigned expression. "Dr. Brennan, this is-"

"Dr. House, I know," Brennan interrupted. She waved a hand weakly but confidently at House's face and cane. "Your facial hair and staff and the deference exhibited by Dr. Taub are signifiers of your status as the senior leader of your tribe."

"_Senior_ - how old do you think I am?" House demanded.

"I didn't mean to offend you. You seem to be in surprisingly good condition for a man of your age and habits."

Wilson was finding it difficult to keep a straight face. House said, "I guess I should be grateful you aren't suggesting that I carry this cane to compensate for other… shortcomings."

"Oh, I would never say that," Brennan protested. "I hate psychology. Besides, I don't have any reason to believe that your penis is in any way inadequate. It's quite possible that you are as well-endowed physically as you are mentally." She looked over at Wilson as if for confirmation.

"Gotta go!" House said, beating a hasty retreat back down the hall.

"He can be a little shy," Wilson said blandly.

"He does seem somewhat socially awkward," Brennan agreed. Startled, Booth caught Wilson's eye, both men struggling valiantly not to smile.

* * *

"Our patient wants to jump my bones," House announced as he limped back into the conference room, dragging Taub along in his wake.

"If by 'jump your bones' you mean that she's waiting for you to die so that she can get her hands on your skeleton and examine it for physical markers of your leg injury and drug use, I concur," Taub smirked, lifting his lab coat as he took a seat.

"And if you piss off that partner of hers, she may not have that long to wait," Chase added with a barely suppressed shudder.

"Oh, did the big bad man make you shriek like a little girl? He's a teddy bear," House replied dismissively.

"A teddy bear, sure. Have you seen his gun?"

"_Too much information_ there, Chase. Besides, I'm already taken," House said smugly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three: Not Dating

* * *

**

"Cam, I wish that you would talk to Angela." Dr. Hodgins rarely poked his head into Dr. Saroyan's office; in fact, she had to patrol the labs regularly if she hoped to catch him preparing to perform a particularly unorthodox or dangerous experiment. The fact that he was now hovering in her doorway, guileless blue eyes troubled, signaled the seriousness of the situation. "You've upset her."

"The two of you have upset me. What are you doing back here with Dr. Brennan so sick?"

"Uh…" Hodgins pitched his voice lower. "Look, Angela has been advised to avoid being exposed to anything right now. We weren't going to tell anyone for a while, but…" The shy grin on his face told her all that she needed to know.

"You're _pregnant?_" she gasped, just as Brennan's intern Wendell Bray appeared behind Hodgins, presumably to report on his progress with the indentations left by the murder weapon.

"Yeah," Hodgins said in a small voice, shifting awkwardly and avoiding Wendell's gaze.

"Seriously? Congratulations, man!" Wendell pulled him into a hearty hug and thumped him on the back. "That's great news!"

"Really? You're not… I mean-"

"No, of course not! I'm really happy for you! I'm gonna go find Angela!"

"I wish you… wouldn't do that," Hodgins said to Wendell's rapidly receding back. "Crap."

* * *

"Hannah," Booth greeted his girlfriend gladly after taking his cellphone out into the hall, "how are you?"

"Great, except for wishing you were here. How's Temperance doing?"

"Less great. Her doctors are conferring right now."

"About that. Have you considered getting a second opinion?"

"A second opinion? We've got a whole team of experts working on her case here."

"Gregory House's team," she clarified.

"Yeah. Like I told you."

"Seeley, the man is a recovering drug addict who had his medical license suspended while he was in rehab. He's been arrested for DUI, prescription forgery, possession, and intent to traffic. He even forcibly kidnapped his favorite soap opera star, although apparently charges were never filed."

"Hey, Hannah, slow down there," Booth said, retreating to a quiet corner of the corridor and lowering his voice. "Dr. House may be a piece of work, but he's supposed to be the best diagnostician in the country, and right now that's more important to me than anything you may have dredged up in his past."

"Well, let's look at his team. He's been reprimanded for inadequate supervision of one of his fellows resulting in a patient's death, another allegedly compromised an important clinical trial, and a notorious African dictator died in their care under very mysterious circumstances last year."

"You work fast," Booth said in reluctant admiration.

"This is what I do," she pointed out.

"You must be really bored with the Press Corps."

"You were right. If I'm going to stay in the States, I need to investigate stories I'm passionate about. Malpractice and corruption in the healthcare industry are a big deal these days, Seeley."

"Well, then do that! Go find some whistleblowers and expose the heartlessness of the health insurance industry if you have to. But leave Brennan's doctors out of it."

He sensed an immediate chill on the other end of the line. "Are you telling me that I can't write about this?" Hannah asked.

"No, of course not," Booth said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm _asking_ you not to."

There was a long pause. "Okay," Hannah said at last.

Booth exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you."

* * *

"Ange?"

"Hodgins," she acknowledged coolly, placing her hands on her hips.

"I, uh, saw Wendell leaving just now, so…"

Angela faced him squarely. "I thought that we agreed that we weren't going to tell anyone yet."

"I really didn't mean for Wendell-"

"I meant Cam," she corrected him crisply.

"Ange, I saw that you were upset; I thought if she knew, she'd back off."

"Yeah," Angela said. "I thought of that, too. And if I'd wanted her to know, I could have told her myself."

"You're right. Sorry," Hodgins said sincerely. They looked at each other for a moment. "How'd Wendell take it?"

Angela waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, you know Wendell, he's a doll. He's very happy for us. But… a little warning would have been nice, you know?"

"Sorry," Hodgins said again, moving towards her, and then against her once he felt her relax. They held each other, each tucking a chin over the other's clavicle. "Feels more real now somehow, doesn't it?" Hodgins asked after a moment.

"It does," Angela agreed, sounding like she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

* * *

By early afternoon, House was ready to concede that the albendazole wasn't working and another round of differentials was in order.

"Maybe we – and by "we," I of course mean _you_ - have been too quick to assume that her symptoms were due to a specifically tropical disease. Just because she spent the past seven months in the wilds of Indonesia doesn't mean she couldn't have contracted something else more recently right here in the good old US of A."

"Bacterial food poisoning would have responded to the antibiotics," Chase pointed out.

"Could still be a rotavirus or norovirus," Foreman insisted. "But it would take days to check for all of them, and even if we identified it, there wouldn't be much we could do."

Taub caught the expression on House's face and intuited, "But I take it you're actually referring to something a little less obvious."

"Yep. Chlamydia," House said. "You ought to be intimately familiar with the symptoms given your numerous affairs of the… _heart._ Go on, share with the rest of the class."

Taub rolled his eyes but recited gamely, "Fever, lower abdominal pain, and nausea are all common."

"Wouldn't the broad spectrum antibiotics have taken care of that?" Masters asked.

"Chlamydia responds better to tetracycline derivatives," Chase shrugged, and then headed off her next question by reminding her, "The seizures could have been caused by the Cipro."

"Then… we should collect a urine sample and start the patient on doxycycline," Masters said, looking hopefully to House for approval.

"And also start a series of PCRs to check for common stomach viruses," Foreman added.

"Fine," House said, grabbing his cane and levering himself to his feet. "But first, there are some sensitive questions to be asked. Give me a few minutes alone with the patient." He stumped off, leaving his fellows to stare after him in surprise.

Chase voiced what they were all thinking: "Cuddy better watch her back."

* * *

Wilson and Cuddy were both standing in the patient's room chatting with Brennan and her hulking bodyguard, when House barged in and stated without preamble, "We want to rule out the possibility of any sexually transmitted diseases. How long have you and your partner been involved?"

"What? No – why does everyone always think that? Agent Booth and I are not dating. We've worked together closely for many years. A sexual relationship would be entirely inappropriate and potentially counterproductive."

"_Bones,"_ Booth hissed reprovingly as Cuddy compressed her lips, eyes darkening.

"What? _Oh_," Brennan added with a knowing nod, "It's different in your case, Doctor House. You and Doctor Wilson may be colleagues at the same institution, but you head entirely different departments and only occasionally collaborate."

Cuddy coughed, and Wilson started to splutter, while House looked almost indecently amused. "Doctor Wilson and I aren't dating either," he said, "although this isn't the first time we've been mistaken for a couple, is it, Snookums?" He reached behind him and did something that caused Wilson to jump slightly and redden even further.

"I seem to have been misinformed," Brennan said.

"Now, I don't know what Wilson's been telling you," House said, loudly enough to drown out his friend's incoherent protests, "but as a matter of fact, I'm currently involved with that lovely lady over there." He glanced over at Cuddy. "A little back-up, here, Boss."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Nice try, but I'm afraid that today you'll have to wait to be groped until after work. Dr. Brennan, please let me know if there's anything I can do for you. And I want _you_ in my office at 5 pm sharp to discuss some insurance allegations of double reimbursement," she added, fixing House with a glare on her way out.

"That was a euphemism," House said, staring admiringly after her. "Now, where were we?"

"I think you were suggesting that Dr. Brennan may have contracted a sexually transmitted disease," Booth said belligerently.

"That was it," House agreed with a grin of simulated gratitude. "How many partners have you had in the past year?" he asked, turning to Dr. Brennan. "Just a ballpark figure would be fine."

"I'll… be in my office," Wilson said.

* * *

Later that afternoon while all of his fellows were in the lab, up to their elbows in PCR primers and polymerase, House stopped by Brennan's room again to check on her progress. She was alone for once, and seemed to be sleeping until she turned her head at the sound of his step. "Dr. House," she said weakly.

House sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking his cane between his thighs, then pressed his fingers to her throat and took her pulse. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A bit better," she said cautiously.

"I see that your faithful watchdog has finally been able to leave your side."

Brennan's lips curved slightly in the prelude to a smile. "Booth went to find the chapel so that he could pray for my recovery." She cocked her head at him conspiratorially. "My feeling better will probably just serve to encourage him."

* * *

Shortly before five, Wilson dropped by House's office to offer his unsolicited opinion.

"House, I think you should consider spending a little less time with this particular patient."

"Now that's something I don't hear too often," the other man remarked.

"I mean it. I saw you flirting with her earlier. You and Cuddy seem to have a good thing going right now. Don't be an idiot."

"_Seriously?_ You think that I would be tempted to cheat on Cuddy? That's your M.O., not mine." House narrowed his eyes. "Sure you aren't projecting here? Do I sense trouble in paradise?"

"No," Wilson snapped. "As a matter of fact, we… things are going fine."

Now House was hot on the scent. "As a matter of fact you, what? _Wilson?_" When his friend refused to meet his eyes, he threw up his hands in disgust. "Oh, _Christ._ Don't tell me. You would think that a guy would know better after the first time. Not to mention the second and third."

"See, this is _exactly_ why I didn't say anything to you."

"This is a really stupid idea," House fumed. "And I am _not_ gonna be your best man. Not even if you beg."

"You know you'll always be my best man," Wilson said unexpectedly, and walked out, feeling the pressure of House's eyes boring into his back.

* * *

By mutual agreement, House and Cuddy dropped the discussion of Diagnostics' appalling patient billing records at the door of the hospital, although the excitement of their sparring session did not wear off during dinner or even until well after Rachel had been tucked into bed with four stories and a scratchy good-night kiss that made her turn her face away and shriek with mingled outrage and delight.

If the novelty of lovemaking had started to wear off in the intervening months, their intimate knowledge of each other's bodies more than made up for the loss. Cuddy left nail marks down his back, and House smothered his hoarse shouts in the sweaty hollow between her neck and shoulder.

Afterwards, lying tangled in her silken sheets, House remarked in a carefully casual voice, "You're on the Pill."

Cuddy twisted around to stare at him from within the circle of his arm. "How do you know that?"

House just regarded her steadily in an unspoken reminder that a man who could monitor her menstrual cycle based on patterns of frozen yogurt consumption didn't miss much. "You don't want my kids," he said finally.

She froze. "House," she said, then caught herself. "Why would you even-"

"You weren't on the pill with Lucas," House stated. "You only started once we got together. You agreed not to use condoms, which sent the signal that you trust me enough to keep you safe from disease, but you've decided to protect yourself from pregnancy."

They both watched her consider denying it. "The chances of my getting pregnant at this point are _very_ low," she began.

"Apparently not low enough."

"I was protecting _you_," she said. "You've never wanted kids."

"When have I ever said that?" House inquired of the ceiling.

"I'm sure it was implied," Cuddy said with a short laugh. Silence. "Hey. Look at me, please." She took his hand, lacing her fingers between uncompromising cables of sinew and bone. "Are you saying that you would want to have one? I mean, if we could?"

He looked hard at her for a moment, than shook his head. She felt herself relax, her heartbeat slowing. "Okay. Because I think it's really too soon to think about that."

"Absolutely," he agreed. As if two decades hadn't been long enough.

They lay in silence after that, each of them certain that the other was only pretending to have fallen asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four: Buried Deep

* * *

**

The next morning, there was no singing, and House made the med student cry within two minutes of walking in the door. Chase rolled his eyes surreptitiously at Taub and then looked daggers at Foreman. House, banging around with the coffee maker and muttering about the dirty mugs in the sink, didn't seem to notice.

"On the bright side," Taub said finally, "Dr. Brennan looks like she's ready to be discharged." Chase redirected his glare, obviously thinking that House was dearly in need of a medical distraction at the moment.

"Who the hell used the last of the sugar and didn't replace it?" House demanded, slamming the empty bag into the trash.

Just then, Booth appeared in the doorway, eyes darting from one doctor to the next. "Glad I found you. Bones can't feel her face."

* * *

Back around the conference table after their unexpected examination, House thumped his cane on the ground for emphasis, looking much less disgruntled. "Acute trigeminal sensory neuropathy, go."

"Trauma is the most common cause of acute neuropathy," Masters volunteered, ever optimistic.

"Great guess, except for the complete lack of evidence of trauma. What else?"

"Infection," Taub offered.

"Fever's gone, and we've swamped her system with enough antibiotics to sterilize a corpse," Chase pointed out. "Her most recent bloodwork showed thrombocytopenia and elevated transaminases. Could be drugs, or drug-induced lupus."

"It's never lupus," Foreman sneered.

"It was once," Chase protested.

"No rash, no history of arrhythmia, arthritis, or, until recently, seizures," House said. "But run the ANA. What else?"

"Cancer," Foreman said heavily. "Most commonly metastasis from breast or lung carcinoma. But malignant melanoma can also spread into neural tissue and present with cranial nerve involvement."

"Hmm," House said. "Wonder Boy may have a patient after all. No, don't get up," he added, already halfway out the door.

Masters looked around at her colleagues. "Did he mean Dr. Wilson?"

"Who else?" Taub answered.

* * *

"You really think this might be a brain tumor?" Booth asked nervously. There were too many of them packed into the observation room, but no one was about to tell him that he was the fifth wheel.

"That is the most likely explanation," Foreman admitted. He flipped the intercom on. "Okay, Dr. Brennan. We're going to start the scan. Please hold as still as possible."

"I had a brain tumor," Booth said darkly. "Thought I was on a submarine with a dead guy from my old unit." Chase and Taub exchanged startled glances and did their best to edge away from him a little.

Foreman and Wilson were intently watching the scans slide over the monitor. Suddenly the images fractured and blurred. Foreman jerked his head up to see Brennan twisting her head to the side, eyes wide.

"Hold still, Dr. Brennan," Foreman said sharply.

But her face was contorting, her pupils dilating, her mouth opening in a panicked shriek. She began banging frantically on the inside of the chamber with her palms. "Booth!" she wailed. "Booth, we're down here!"

"Get her out of there," Foreman ordered.

Chase was the first to reach her, and was rewarded with a powerful kick that sent him stumbling and retching off to the side of the room. Booth, right behind him, approached more cautiously as Brennan continued to hammer her hands against the top and sides of the chamber. "Bones!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard above her blows and screams. "Bones, it's all right, I'm here!"

"Get us out!" Brennan yelled. "We're almost out of air!"

Taub had pushed the button to slide Brennan back out of the chamber and was fumbling for a syringe while Chase continued to cough and splutter. As soon as he could reach her, Booth grabbed her battered hands and held them tightly. "Bones, it's me, you're out, you're all right!"

"Little pinch," Taub said, jabbing the needle into her deltoid. Brennan didn't even react as she pulled herself up and swung her legs over the side of the platform, trying to yank her hands out of Booth's firm grip.

"Whoa, whoa," Booth said, holding on to her. "Take it easy. Just relax, it's over."

"No!" Brennan protested, still struggling, but more feebly now. "Hodgins is still down there! You have to help… find…" Succumbing to the sedative, she slumped bonelessly into Booth's arms. He stood there, a worried scowl creasing his forehead, as they were finally joined by Foreman and Wilson.

"What was that all about?" Chase choked out, still wheezing and rubbing his sternum.

"She sounded like she was having a nightmare about one of our old cases," Booth said.

"That was no nightmare," Foreman said gravely. "Dr. Brennan is hallucinating."

* * *

"Well, _that_ was unexpected," House acknowledged when the Cottages had regrouped in the Diagnostics conference room.

"Chase getting his ass kicked by a barefoot girl? Not so much, actually," Taub smirked. This earned him a glare from Chase, who had changed his shirt and was sullenly fingering the sore spot on his chest.

"With you there," House agreed. "No, I was referring to the fact that our patient is now having hallucinations. Those plus the trigeminal neuropathy means…" he paused dramatically, then turned to Foreman and said in a loud stage whisper, "Hey, brain guy, that was supposed to be your cue."

"MRI was clean," Foreman said. "No brain tumor, no enlargement of the trigeminal nerves."

"Anything else it wasn't?" Masters smothered a nervous giggle as House narrowed his eyes in her direction. "Come on, people. I need ideas."

"Sudden onset schizophrenia," Taub said.

"Déjà vu much?" House jeered.

Foreman shook his head. "Too sudden. And with no evidence of disorganized thought or speech."

"Could explain the blunted affect," Taub said under his breath.

"I assume you're referring to the part where she was screaming in terror at the thought of being buried alive," House said sarcastically. "What else?" He slammed his cane down on the conference table directly in front of Chase, causing all of the Cottages to jump. "Quit sniveling and contribute something useful for a change."

"Drugs," Chase said defiantly.

"Is there a delayed echo in here?" House asked. "None of the drugs we've given her could have caused these symptoms. Or are you suggesting that she's got a secret stash?"

"Or a supplier who's rarely out of her sight," Taub suggested.

"Or delirium tremens," said Foreman.

"Everybody lies," Masters parroted.

"They grow up so fast," House said, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "All right. Run a tox screen for all the mood-altering substances that you can think of. And Chase, since you're so gung ho, you can go ask GI Joe whether he's dealing drugs or his partner is a secret alcoholic," he finished with an evil grin.

The fellows filed out of the room, the rigid line of Chase's back shouting _bite me_ even if his cowardly mouth never would.

* * *

"Doctor House? Hi, Lance Sweets. I'm a psychologist with the FBI."

House looked the cherubic young man up and down and guffawed. "Seriously? Were your parents expecting you to put yourself through school as a male escort?" Beside him, Wilson tensed, giving the distinct impression that he might be about to fling himself bodily into the line of fire. But when his gibe failed to provoke the desired response, all House said was, "What brings you to my office… _Lance?_"

"Doctor House, I've treated Doctor Brennan in her capacity as Agent Booth's partner, and I heard about her recent psychiatric symptoms. I've come to offer my services as a consultant."

"That's right, her recent _psychiatric_ symptoms," House emphasized, his lips curling over the word. "In other words, symptoms treatable with drugs, by _real_ doctors, as opposed to sitting around and talking about her feelings with a kid barely old enough to shave."

Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Doctor Sweets, I'm sorry, it's been a stressful day for all of us, and this really might not be the best time-"

"No, don't apologize, this is very interesting," Sweets said smoothly. "Doctor House, you are hardly alone in your doubts about the efficacy of psychotherapy. But I can see that there's more to your resistance than the usual professional rivalries." Emboldened by House's silence, he continued, "You sound like a man who's tried to get psychological help, and probably fairly recently. Tried and failed, and now you feel justifiably skeptical about the entire enterprise."

House caught Wilson's eye. "I'll be in my office," the oncologist said, and as he passed Sweets, he mouthed, _"Good luck."_

Sweets waited for the door to shut behind Wilson. "Doctor House, I know a little bit about you. You're famous – some might say infamous – in your field. You've had some run-ins with the law, suspicions of narcotics abuse and trafficking, that sort of thing. I can tell that you're not using now, and there's a bit of a gap in your records, so I'm thinking that you went away for a while to a private facility and got clean. You would have had to agree to continue therapy in order to practice medicine again when you got out, and you're still clean, yet you're disillusioned with the process."

He moved closer, sat down in the chair opposite House, and leaned his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. The other man only watched him, eyes narrowed, but objections stilled, at least temporarily, by curiosity.

"Something about your circumstances changed. Therapy wasn't working anymore. You came very close to relapsing into your old self-destructive patterns, but then you found another solution." If Sweets had shown any hesitation, any doubts about his interpretation, he knew that House would squash him like a particularly annoying insect, so he pressed on. "Only now you're scared. You miss the things you've lost, and you don't think this is a sustainable solution. And you're probably right."

House finally stood up, blue eyes unreadable in the late afternoon light. "You aren't really here to talk about my patient, are you? Who brought you in? It was Wilson, wasn't it?"

Sweets remained seated. "On the contrary, Dr. House. I was just demonstrating my credentials in the only manner that a man like you respects."

"What exactly is it that you want, _Lance_?"

"To consult on Dr. Brennan's case, as I said."

"I really don't think that you're any use to her right now."

"Dr. House, I've heard that Dr. Brennan is experiencing hallucinations and paranoid delusions. I might be able to help calm her down. Barring that, there's a good chance that the content of her delusions may be informative."

"With respect to this case? I doubt it."

"Perhaps not to this case, but if in her current state she reveals deep-seated anxieties or desires, I could gain insights that will assist me with future treatment."

"Assuming that we're able to discover the underlying cause of her symptoms and release her from the hospital," House said darkly.

"I have every confidence," Sweets said. House stared at him stonily for a moment, then sank slowly into his seat.

"Well, she's _non compos mentis_ at the moment. You'll have to get permission from her medical proxy."

"No problem," Sweets smiled, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. "Thank you, Dr. House." When House made no move to take it, Sweets withdrew his hand and headed to Brennan's room.

* * *

"You want to do _what_?" Booth was already shaking his head. "No way, Sweets. If Bones weren't so out of it right now, she'd tell you to go to hell."

"I just want to observe, Agent Booth. Come _on_." He winced, waiting for Booth to mock him for the whiny _Daaaad, you said I could have the car_ note in his voice.

"You mean, you just want to spy on her. Take advantage of this opportunity to find out how she ticks deep down." Booth held up his hand. "Sorry, the answer's no. It was bad enough when you wrote that ridiculous book about us."

"A book I'll never be able to publish, all because you were holding out on me."

"Yeah, cry me a river, Sweets. Forget it." Just then, Brennan stirred and moaned behind him. Booth spun around and was at her side in an instant. "Bones? Bones, you all right?"

"Booth," she murmured. Then, more urgently, "Booth!"

"Yeah, Bones, it's me, I'm here." He reached for her hand, not even noticing as Sweets quietly followed him into the room.

Brennan began thrashing her head from side to side, struggling against her restraints. Her eyes were open, but she seemed to be looking right through him. "Booth!" she whimpered. "Where are you? Don't leave me alone!"

"Bones, I'm here," he said more loudly, chafing the clenched fingers he held. "I haven't left you. I'm not going anywhere. Feel, Bones. I'm right here." He knelt by the bed and pressed his cheek to the back of her bandaged hand, but Brennan continued to writhe and plead.

Attention attracted by the noise on his way past the door, Foreman entered abruptly, brushing by Sweets, and rummaged in the medical storage cart for an ampule and a syringe. Booth lifted his head to glare suspiciously at him, and if his face was wet, no one dared call attention to that fact. "I'm just giving her something to help her relax," Foreman assured him, deftly disengaging her fluid line and injecting into the IV.

Brennan's movements grew weaker as the panic in her face stilled. "Booth," she muttered one more time, before her mouth went slack and she closed her eyes, head lolling to the side. Foreman checked her pulse and nodded once at Booth, looking sympathetic, before leaving the room.

Sweets cautiously moved forward and placed a hand on Booth's shoulder. "Agent Booth, I know that this is very upsetting. But I just want to make sure that you're not missing the big picture here. Brennan's hallucinations are telling us that what she fears most is being abandoned by _you_. This is _huge_."

"Sweets," Booth growled, swiping at his face, "- and I mean this in the nicest possible way - _get the hell out_."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five: Some Days

* * *

**

House stayed late at the hospital that evening, moodily bouncing his ball and surfing the internet in his office, and every so often erupting into the conference room to glare at the baffling list of symptoms scrawled on the whiteboard and at whichever fellows had the misfortune to be present. Although their patient's condition didn't appear to be life-threatening for the time being, no one dared to leave as long as House seemed concerned enough about the case to stick around. Even Chase abandoned the idea of an evening out and made a few hasty phone calls to cancel his social obligations.

Around nine p.m., Cuddy came around to scold House into eating a sandwich she'd brought, and he ended up leaving with her, limping more heavily than usual, and pointing his cane at the Cottages in an unspoken but unmistakable threat as he departed.

* * *

Back at his apartment, House was obviously distracted. When Cuddy pushed him up against the nearest wall and kissed him, he responded automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. "_Earth to House_," she hissed finally in exasperation.

His eyes snapped back into focus. "This was a mistake," he said.

"House, I know you can't help… being _you_, but try to let it go. Dr. Brennan isn't in any immediate danger. You'll figure this out. I have complete faith in you."

"Even my brain needs blood to work, and you seem intent on redirecting it."

"Only temporarily," Cuddy murmured, nuzzling his neck and sliding a hand to the small of his back. "Surely you can spare a _few_ minutes."

"That's what she said," House leered. "Oh, wait."

* * *

More than a few minutes later, they lay side by side on top of the covers, listening to each other's breaths slow. "I'd better go," Cuddy sighed. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Stay," House implored, but she shook her head.

"I have a seven-thirty meeting with a big donor."

"How about if you postpone it until after your nine o'clock meeting with a big boner?"

"You're impossible," Cuddy scolded.

"No, just highly improbable."

"I'll expect to see you in the clinic by eight-thirty. You owe me hours for last week, too."

"I thought my lackeys covered for me last week."

Cuddy scoffed as she bent to pick up her skirt. "Don't think that you can get out of clinic duty just because you're boffing the boss."

* * *

"Dr. Cuddy? Camille Saroyan, I head the Forensic Division at the Jeffersonian."

Cuddy got up from behind her desk to shake hands. "You must be here to see Dr. Brennan."

"I meant to come earlier in the week, but my daughter was freaking out over the SATs, and I couldn't get away."

"You don't look like you could possibly have a daughter that old," Cuddy commented. "I don't know how you managed it with residency and all. I can afford full time help now, and I still never seem to have time for anything."

"I adopted Michelle when she was already a teenager," Cam explained.

"Really? Rachel's my foster daughter," Cuddy smiled, showing off her favorite photo.

"Cute," Cam said dutifully. "So how's Dr. Brennan doing?"

"Well, as you probably know, we had expected to release her yesterday, but she developed some new neurological symptoms. But I'm very hopeful. Our entire department of Diagnostics is dedicated to her case."

"As the Dean of Medicine, do you have time to keep so well-informed about all of your patients, or just the famous ones?" Cam asked drily.

"Let's just say that the department head and I are very close."

"Really?" Cam replied, amused, and deliberately declined to follow up the first thought that came to mind. "Does he call you in on consults?"

"Not exactly," Cuddy admitted. "I was trained as an endocrinologist, but my main role here is administrative. Dr. House likes to say that's in everyone's best interests."

"I'll do you one better," Cam confided. "I was told that I would only get my medical degree if I promised to practice exclusively on dead people."

Cuddy stared at the other woman for a moment before Cam broke into a brilliant smile. "Had you there, didn't I?"

Pushing her hair aside with a rueful expression, Cuddy shrugged. "I do know a number of doctors who might have benefited from that restriction."

* * *

Cold, cold, UTI, cold, UTI. House wondered, not for the first time, whether they would haul him out of the clinic in a straitjacket one day after the tedium had literally driven him insane. Again.

His sixth patient pulled out an angry red penis and waved it around. Thanking the gods he didn't believe in for this unexpected break in his routine, House snapped on a pair of gloves to take a closer look at the raw, blistering skin. "How long has it been like this?"

"About half an hour? I came straight here. Jesus, doc, can you do something? It itches like crazy."

"Is this the first time you've experienced this condition?"

"Yeah. No. Mighta happened before, but it was never this bad."

"O-kay. Any… _unusual_ activities recently that I should be aware of?"

"Well," and the man looked even more uncomfortable, if such a thing was possible, "I, uh, I had sex."

_Duuuhhhh._ "And that was roughly…" House raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

"Naw, doc." The patient sounded offended. "No rough stuff. I'm not some kind of perv or anything."

House sighed. "I meant, roughly how long has it been? Since you had sex," he added, to head off any more potential misunderstandings.

"Last night," the man grunted, clenching his fists against the desperate urge to scratch.

"You have a latex allergy," House said, pulling his gloves off hurriedly and tossing them in the trash. "But you're in luck. There are lots of polyurethane options out there these days."

"You mean this was caused by my _condom_?" the patient said incredulously.

"It's not that uncommon. What can I say, sometimes you do everything you can to keep yourself safe, and it just ends up coming around to bite you in the…" House paused, staring off into space. "I'm an idiot."

"Doc? Doc, you okay?" the patient called after him as he hightailed it back to Diagnostics.

* * *

"Our patient didn't come down with malaria in the Maluku Islands," House announced, stumping into the conference room where his fellows were waiting.

"Ooo…kay," Foreman said, looking unimpressed even for him. "Our patient didn't come down with a lot of _other_ things, either."

"Yes, but in this case, it was _how_ she didn't contract the disease that was important," House replied, rapping his cane on the floor for added emphasis. "Anti-malarial meds."

"Isn't doxycycline the approved prophylactic for malaria?" Masters asked. "That doesn't have neurological side effects."

Foreman suddenly sat up and said, "True, but the drug it replaced, mefloquine, a.k.a. Lariam, does. Seizures, paranoid delusions, and hallucinations have all been reported in a small percentage of subjects."

Chase had caught on by now as well. "The Surgeon General only issued the directive to switch to doxycycline last year. Dr. Brennan has been traveling to countries with endemic malaria for over a decade," he reminded his colleagues. "She probably didn't even bother to get a new prescription for this trip, just took what was left over from her previous supply."

"If she'd never had any side effects before, she probably didn't see any reason to be concerned," Taub reflected.

"But seven months is a long time to be on that stuff. She finally accumulated high enough levels in her brain to cause the neurological symptoms we've observed," Foreman concluded.

"Why would Dr. Brennan only start experiencing side effects from the drug after she came back?" Masters asked.

"Mefloquine has a half life of 10 to 40 days," Foreman answered, "and it's actually not uncommon for patients to develop these symptoms only after completing their course of prophylaxis."

Masters mulled this over. "But what about the GI symptoms and fever?" she asked finally.

"Common side effects of mefloquine include nausea, abdominal distress, headache, and fever," Foreman replied. "It all fits."

"Hey," Chase put in proudly, "I called the drugs."

"It was stupid when you said it yesterday," House shrugged. The smug smile faded from Chase's face.

"So what's the treatment?" Masters asked.

House and Foreman exchanged glances. "There isn't one," Foreman admitted. "We just have to keep her safe and stable until the drug clears out of her system. Cognitive-behavioral therapy might help, but full recovery could take weeks or even months."

"Okay. Let me just make sure that I have this straight. All of our previous diagnoses were wrong, everything we've done probably just made her symptoms worse, and now that we're nearly certain we know what's going on, we can't do anything about it."

The four men avoided each other's eyes, looking uniformly uncomfortable. "Some days are better than others," Chase offered at last.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6: More Than It Is

* * *

**

"I don't understand," Booth said after House and Foreman interrupted his vigil in Brennan's room and motioned him outside to explain their mefloquine theory. "You're saying that Brennan was taking some medicine in the Mulatto… Mollusko… in Indonesia that made her sick?

"Yes," Foreman confirmed. "She probably didn't think to mention it when we took her history because she had her last dose a couple of weeks ago. But this drug sticks around in the body for a long time, and the neurological issues can last for months afterwards."

"We'd like to keep her here under observation until we're sure that she's not going to experience any more serious side effects," House said.

"But now that you know what's wrong, you can treat her, right? Make her better."

"You have to understand," Foreman said, "that there may not be much we can do except wait until the drug clears out of her system."

House glared at him. "Et tu, Foreman?"

"What are the other options?" Booth asked.

"Well, we could have her transferred to a psychiatric hospital," Foreman explained, ignoring House's annoyance. "I imagine that it would make it easier on her friends and family if she were being cared for in the DC area instead of here."

Booth lowered his voice. "She seems to be in pretty bad shape right now. Are you sure it's safe to move her?"

"We understand your concerns, but-"

"NO," House interrupted Foreman loudly, "it is _not_ safe. We need to continue to keep a close eye on her until we know she's stable." To his credit, Foreman only allowed his jaw to drop a little.

Booth looked from one doctor to the other with a frown. "I think I'm going to need a second opinion."

"_Great_," House responded. "Let's go see Dr. Cuddy and explain the situation."

Booth's lips twisted in a disbelieving smirk. "No offense, but I think I'd rather consult with someone who's in a position to be a little more objective about your cases."

"Actually," House assured him, "she's been letting me get away with a lot _less _since we started having sex."

* * *

Booth found Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Sweets having lunch together in the cafeteria. Cam immediately rose to give him a hug. "How are you holding up, Seeley?"

"Been better," he admitted quietly, before breaking away and pulling up a chair. "I have some big decisions to make."

"Have Dr. Brennan's doctors figured out what's wrong with her?"

"They think they know," Booth said, massaging his temples. "Of course, they thought that the first few times, too."

"Much as we wish it were, medicine isn't an exact science," Cam said, not without sympathy. "What's the current diagnosis?"

"Side effects of her malaria medicine."

"Oh, wow," Sweets said. "I've heard of that happening. It's pretty rare, though. Usually people just get these really vivid and disturbing dreams. But there have been documented cases of paranoia and even hallucinations."

"Ahh, see!" Booth burst out, leveling a finger at Sweets. "It wasn't about Hannah at all, Bones was just worried because of this mefliwhatzit."

"The two explanations are not mutually exclusive," the psychologist shrugged.

Impatient, Cam broke it up. "So, Seeley, what's the next step?"

"Well, I was hoping to get your recommendation, Cam."

"I can try," she agreed doubtfully. "But I'd like to hear more from Dr. House first."

"Sure," Booth said. "Let's go up and have a chat with him when you're done here."

"Get yourself something to eat," Cam urged him. "We'll wait."

"Nah," Booth replied, shoving his chair back. "I'm gonna make a phone call. I'll meet you in House's office."

The other two exchanged glances behind him. "How's Hannah been taking this?" Sweets asked in a low voice.

"I haven't heard," Cam answered. "But she can't be thrilled that he's been out of town practically since she returned from Afghanistan."

"I knew it," Sweets muttered, meditatively munching on a french fry.

* * *

"Hannah, hey."

"Hey yourself, stranger. What's going on?"

"Good news! The docs figured out what's wrong with Bones. Some kind of side effect from her malaria medicine."

"Really? So she's going to be all right?"

"Well, actually, she's still having a pretty rough time of it, and it may take a while for the drug to clear out of her system."

"When did they say she would be released?"

"They're not sure. It sounded like it could be months." On the heels of her sharp intake of breath, Booth added hurriedly, "But we might be able to transfer her to another hospital closer to DC. At least that way I'll be able to come home every night."

"Now you're talkin'. When will you know?"

"Cam and Sweets are up here and we're gonna meet with her doctor. I should probably get going."

"Okay. I miss you, Seeley."

"I miss you too."

* * *

House looked up sharply and pulled off his reading glasses as a shapely woman with glossy black hair pushed open the door to his office. "Dr. House?" He said nothing as she advanced confidently across the room to stand directly in front of his desk. "Camille Saroyan, head of Forensics at the Jeffersonian."

He ran his eyes appreciatively down her body, then looked past her to Booth, Sweets trailing behind him. "You've brought reinforcements."

"Hey," Booth said, "we're on the same side here. We both want what's best for Bones, right?"

"'kay," House agreed. Then, raising his voice, "How's it hanging, _Lance_? Talking cure not as effective as you expected?"

Sweets ignored the gibe and strode up to stand next to the others in a cramped semicircle. "Agent Booth tells us that you and your team have reached a consensus regarding Dr. Brennan's case."

"About her diagnosis, yes. If we were in consensus about her condition, I doubt you'd be here."

"How confident are you that you're right?" Cam asked.

House leaned back in his chair. "I'm always confident that I'm right. I find it confusing to operate under the opposite assumption."

Sweets smiled slowly. "Fair enough. Contrary to what you might think, you are the acknowledged expert here. So, assuming that you _are_ right, what are the associated risks of moving Dr. Brennan to another facility?"

"Impossible to estimate," House answered obstinately. "Outcomes have too high a degree of variability."

"And yet you believe that it's in Dr. Brennan's best interests to remain here at Princeton Plainsboro," Cam recapitulated.

"I think it's in her best interest to remain under observation by the best diagnostics department in the country, yeah."

"I'm sure that your reputation in diagnostics is richly deserved," Sweets said. "But isn't ongoing oversight somewhat out of the ordinary for you?"

"We're willing to make an exception for such an interesting case," House allowed.

Booth blew out his breath in disgust. "I knew it. Bones is an _interesting case_. She isn't even a human being to you. I bet she has more sympathy for her skeletons than you do for your patients." He shook his head. "Don't get me wrong; you've done your job, and I'm grateful. But I'm gonna get her out of here. She deserves to be surrounded by people who actually care about her."

House's eyes darkened, although he didn't deny the accusations. "At least let us keep her overnight to make sure that she's physically stable."

"All right," Booth agreed. "But if nothing has changed by tomorrow, I want to take her back to DC with us." He turned and walked out of the office, Drs. Sweets and Saroyan behind him.

As the door swung shut, House heard Sweets say softly but distinctly, "What an _asshole_."

* * *

"The door was closed for a reason," Wilson said mildly as House limped unannounced into his office.

"And now it's closed again for a reason," House said, sinking onto the couch and absent-mindedly rubbing his thigh. "We solved the Brennan case."

"Drugs?" Wilson hazarded.

House looked up at him sharply. "Lariam. Who talked?"

"No one," Wilson said. Then, "Today," he amended. "So what's the prognosis?"

"Right now she's still experiencing full-blown psychosis. Could take weeks or months for full recovery."

"And you want to keep her here."

House shrugged. "Can't risk transferring her to some rehab center when it's impossible to predict her trajectory. There could still be respiratory problems, liver failure…"

"Yeah," Wilson said sarcastically. "They'd have no idea how to deal with drug clearance issues in rehab." He pointed an accusing finger. "You're actually trying to be nice."

"Spare me," House snarled, struggling back to his feet.

"Let me rephrase that. You identify with this patient." Wilson lowered his voice but was too smart to allow sympathy to creep into it. "You know how terrifying it is to hallucinate, to not be able to trust the evidence of your own senses. And you remember Mayfield too well to wish a similar experience on her."

House scowled at him from the doorway. "I'll thank you to keep your idiotic excuses for psychoanalysis to yourself, at least until I've convinced that caveman of hers."

Wilson spread his hands. "House. It's either that, or you're feeling guilty because you dicked around for days without diagnosing her and helpless now that you know that there's nothing you can do. As far as I'm concerned, either of those motivations would be a good thing."

He smiled down at his desk when his office door slammed and went back to his patient file.

* * *

House was restless. Wilson's words kept repeating themselves in his thoughts like a broken record, and while he still thought them ridiculous, he couldn't seem to come up with better reasons for his conviction that Brennan was better off here, with him. He chased his fellows out to have their lunches, claiming that he couldn't think with their food stinking up the place, and then cranked up "Exile on Main Street" until the walls pulsated and Wilson crossed the balcony to complain. Chastened, he tried resorting to quieter distractions, but the best porn that the internet had to offer couldn't compete with smoke blue eyes in a frightened face.

Finally he grabbed his cane and headed for the elevator.

* * *

In the psych ward, Agent Booth was in his usual position at Brennan's side. House limped into the room and jerked his chin at the chair. "Hey. You look like the kind of guy who would offer his seat to old ladies and cripples." Booth glowered but consented to rise from the chair, whereupon House collapsed into it with a soft grunt of relief. "Give us a minute."

Booth opened and closed his mouth but said nothing. "Counting to five? Are we gonna be here a while?"

"I'll be right outside," Booth growled, leaving at last.

House sat for what seemed like a long time, hunched forward, focusing on the features of Brennan's unconscious face, his cane tapping erratically against the floor as if of its own volition. He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected, but he'd hoped that being in the same room with her would inspire him, either with an approach to treatment or with an insight as to why he couldn't seem to fucking _let go_ of her case now that his usual role was over. But he only sat, his mind skipping from one useless thought to another, as Brennan slept and her partner paced, and at last he heaved himself to his feet and beckoned to Booth to reenter the room.

But just then, Brennan's eyelids fluttered, and before House could back away from the bed, out of her line of sight, she opened her clouded blue eyes wide, blanched, and jerked against her restraints, struggling unsuccessfully to sit up.

"It's all right," he said quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Why are you here?"

"Your case interested me," he said, feeling a surge of optimism at her obvious ability to perceive him and engage in conversation, at least temporarily. "And we think very much alike in some ways, so… I thought that I might be able to help you."

Brennan's color was coming back. "We do think alike in many ways. Rationality and evidence are very important to us. But… I would never have allowed logic alone to dictate my actions in the ways that you have. The ends do not always justify the means."

House cocked his head. "Even if the end is saving a life?"

Her expression became severe. "What you did," she said slowly, "was the opposite of saving a life."

"I know that our attempts to diagnose your illness were unsuccessful at first, but you _are_ going to get better," House replied, more confidently than he felt.

But now Brennan frowned in bemusement. "I don't understand," she said. "I thought that you were here to help us solve our case."

House stared at her thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Dr. Brennan, do you know who I am?"

"Of course, I do, Zack," she said. "I'm just surprised to see you outside of the asylum again."

House looked sharply at Booth, whose eyes had widened. "Zack Addy," he clarified. "Her former grad student. He confessed to killing someone but was judged NGRI and committed."

Suppressing a shiver at the uncanny parallels that Brennan's subconscious had apparently detected, House turned back to her, choosing his next words very carefully. "Of course you are," he said. "But I think I can explain. Dr. Brennan, neither of us are religious people. We prefer to believe in the evidence of our senses."

"Agreed," she said. "But what does this have to do with-"

"Just hear me out," he urged her, holding up his hand. "We also know, as scientists, that sensory data are not always reliable."

"Of course," she nodded. "Our senses can be tricked by certain types of illusions. We can also fail to perceive things if our neurons become damaged, or perceive things that don't exist in reality when under the influence of drugs or mental illness."

"Exactly," House confirmed. "Now, the advantage that we have is that even when our senses fool us, we can use logical reasoning to determine, if not the truth, then at least the fact that our perceptions cannot be trusted under the current circumstances." He leaned forward, looking at her intently. "Dr. Brennan, can you recall the events of the past twenty-four hours?"

Brennan frowned even more fiercely, but she wasn't actually angry, merely making an effort to remember. "I've been here," she said, "in the hospital, alone."

"And before this?"

"Hodgins and I were trapped underground, and Booth rescued me." She paled, staring at him in horror. "Taffet is out there! Where's Booth? He has to warn everyone and find her!"

House raised his voice authoritatively. "Try to calm down. Now, how did you get from being buried alive to this hospital?"

His insistent gaze caught and held her, prevented her from teetering over the edge of blind panic. "I… I don't remember."

"Do you remember being in the hospital _before_ you were rescued?"

She stared back at him, then nodded slowly. "Yes. I was… I was sick. Dr. Foreman suspected that I might have a brain tumor." Suddenly realization dawned. "Booth had hallucinations because of his tumor. Is that what's happening to me?"

"Yes and no," House answered. "It's not a tumor in your case. But you _have_ been having hallucinations, both vivid sensory impressions of being buried alive and inhibited perception of… of someone who apparently cares about you and has _not_ left you alone."

Brennan closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. When she opened them again, they were unnaturally bright as she focused on his face. "_Dr. House_," she murmured, and he nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up in relief. "And you're saying that Booth is… here?"

"Even if you can't see him, I promise you that he is here." Brennan smiled trustingly, and the FBI agent snuffled and shot forward to take hold of her hand.

* * *

"Hannah, it's me."

"Hey, I wasn't expecting to hear from you again so soon! Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "More than okay. Brennan's getting better."

"Oh, Seeley, that's fantastic!"

"Yeah, it is. I have to give credit where credit is due, House actually found a way to get through to her."

"_Really?_ Huh. Well, that's great! Surprising, but great. So… what's the plan?"

"Well, under the circumstances, I've decided that she should stay here until they're sure she's well enough to go home. So, uh… I'm going to stick around for a while."

"I bet Brennan must be impatient to get out of there and get back to work."

"Actually, she's been pretty out of it. She, um, still doesn't always know where she is."

"But she recognizes you now, right?" When he hesitated, Hannah huffed in annoyance. "No? Honestly, why don't you just come home? It sounds like there's not a lot that you can do for her right now."

"I can be here for her," Booth said sharply. "And that's what I'm going to do. I hope that you can understand."

There was a pause. "Sure, Seeley," Hannah said, a little unsteadily. "You do what you have to do."

* * *

Drs. Sweets and Saroyan found Booth sitting by Brennan's bedside, holding her hand and looking more relaxed that they had seen him since arriving at PPTH. But when Cam opened the door and beckoned to him, he reluctantly released Brennan's fingers and got up to join them in the hallway.

"Seeley, I called around and got a recommendation for a facility just outside of DC. We could take Dr. Brennan down there tomorrow if you wanted."

"Oh, thanks Cam, but actually, I've decided to keep her here. House had a bit of a breakthrough this afternoon, and, well, I feel like Bones is better off with someone who speaks her language. I just told Hannah that I'll be staying here too, until she's able to come home."

"Really?" Sweets asked, his face lighting up. "That's fantastic. I'm so glad to see that you've been able to acknowledge your feelings for Dr. Brennan again and-"

"Sweets," Booth said tiredly, "Knock it off. I told you, I've moved on. Stop trying to make this more than it is."

"Sure," Sweets nodded, obediently schooling his features into an expression of solemnity. But he lingered in the hallway on a hunch, and when he looked back into Brennan's room, Booth was bending over her and brushing his lips to her damp forehead. Sweets broke into a triumphant smirk as he hurried after Cam.


	8. Chapter 8

It didn't take months, but many of the employees at PPTH became accustomed to the sight of Brennan's squints roaming the halls during her recovery. Agent Booth took an extended leave of absence, feeling vindicated as Brennan's lucid periods became longer and more frequent. On the day that she was to be discharged, Angela, Hodgins, and Cam drove up to collect them.

Brennan stopped by House's office on her way out, interrupting his glum game of solitaire.

"Did you bring the tar and feathers?" he asked.

"I don't know what that means," she replied.

"Probably lucky for me," he said, too downcast to notice the twinkle in her eye.

"I just wanted to thank you for taking my case."

"No need," House said, not meeting her gaze. "And I really mean that."

"And also for being honest with me."

He finally looked up at her. "That's something I don't get very often."

"I don't blame you. When you lack enough information to reach a solution, it only makes sense to do more experiments. In your case, sometimes that entails certain risks to your patients."

"I sense a 'but.'"

"But it _is_ true that if your team had taken a more thorough medical history initially, and believed my responses to the questions they _did_ ask, you probably would have come to your conclusion about the mefloquine much sooner."

House made a sound that might, or might not, have been an apology.

"By the way, Booth said that he watched you convince me that I had been having hallucinations. Apparently that was the turning point in my condition."

"You convinced yourself," House said. "I just reminded you about the evidence."

"Still. I think that Dr. Sweets might say that you actually effected a talking cure." Her eyes danced.

House's lip curled. "If you told him."

"_If _I told him," Brennan agreed. "Or if Booth did. Which, I am quite confident, is highly unlikely."

House nodded. "Thanks. And you're welcome."

"We're driving back to DC after dinner, but Booth thought we should all go out for a drink first, to celebrate. One of your colleagues recommended a bar just a couple of blocks from here. I hope that you will join us."

"I'm not really big on partying with my employees," House told her.

"While I used to think that it would not be appropriate, I've come to appreciate the value of social interactions outside of the lab in building trust and creating a more collegial and productive atmosphere," Brennan said seriously.

House cocked his head at her with something approaching fondness in his face. "I'll consider it. But don't wait up for me."

* * *

At four in the afternoon, the Alchemist and Barrister was still fairly quiet except for the Jeffersonian researchers and their recent acquaintances from Princeton Plainsboro.

"I heard a rumor," Wilson said, sitting down next to Angela, "that you co-authored parts of Dr. Brennan's latest book. If it's true, then on behalf of all men everywhere, I would like to express my gratitude."

Angela grinned. "I think it would have been more appropriate to express gratitude on behalf of _women_ everywhere, but I can see how that might be misconstrued."

Wilson had the grace to blush. "Um. Bet it must have been a lot of fun for you to work together on a project like that."

"Oh, it was," Angela said. "Once I convinced her that the steamy scenes wouldn't detract from the seriousness of the science."

"Stubborn, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I might."

Angela smiled. "You and Doctor House are pretty close, aren't you?"

"No! I mean, yeah. But not _close_, close. I mean, we're not- We're both seeing other people." He sighed. "I'm not helping my case, am I?"

"Don't worry," Angela laughed, patting his arm. "I just meant that I can tell you guys are old friends."

"You and Dr. Brennan must be, too. Are you like sisters separated at birth, completing each other's sentences, that sort of thing?"

"Are you kidding? Brennan and I are like night and day. Sometimes I feel like we speak completely different languages." Angela smiled again, her whole face lighting up with a beauty that Wilson couldn't fail to appreciate. "But it works. We make a great team."

"I usually understand what House is talking about," Wilson reflected. Then he frowned. "That's what's so worrying."

* * *

"Angela seems terrific," Chase observed, trying to sound friendly but wincing at the bitterness in his own voice.

"I'm crazy about her," Hodgins said. "Always have been."

"Look, I'm sorry," Chase said. "It's none of my business. You just… seem so happy. I guess I'm a little envious."

Hodgins looked at him closely. "No, it's okay. Bad break-up?"

"Divorce, actually," Chase said, pulling the ring out of his pocket and moodily spinning it on the table until it collapsed on its side with a sad little _clink._

"Sorry, man," Hodgins said sympathetically.

"Yeah," Chase said. He replaced the ring and took a big gulp of his beer. "I was crazy about her, too. But she was never sure about us. We almost broke up right before the wedding, and then it lasted less than a year."

Hodgins took a swallow, then came to a decision. "I've been there, man." Chase looked at him, doubt plain on his face. "Seriously. When we first started dating, things were so… great." He didn't have to resort to crude terms for Chase to understand that the sex must have been amazing. Much as it had been in his case.

"But Angela, she wasn't ready. She didn't want things to get too serious." Chase nodded encouragingly. "I asked her to marry me, and she said no. So I backed off. I tried being patient. Then I… well, it's not important. But once she stopped feeling like I was pressuring her, she agreed to marry me."

"Seems to have worked out for you," Chase said.

"Yeah." Hodgins grinned at him. "But not before I discovered on our wedding day that she was still married to someone else."

"You- _really_."

"And then when her dad found out we'd broken up, he tracked me down and tattooed her face on my arm."

"Wow," Chase said. "But… you eventually did get married?"

"Yup. Last year. We were in jail."

"In-" Chase started to repeat, then shrugged and grinned. "You crazy optimistic bastard," he said, tapping the neck of his beer bottle on the rim of Hodgins' glass. "Cheers."

* * *

"Oh, I've always enjoyed getting married," Angela said cheerfully. "It's waking up the next morning that's the killer."

Wilson looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Kidding," she reassured him. "It only happened once. What about you, how many times have you been married?"

"Um… three." He paused. "Does it count if you wed the same person twice?"

"Sure," Angela said, smiling. "In fact, Hodgins and I have decided that it counts twice as much."

"That's a nice way of looking at it," Wilson acknowledged.

"So then does that make it four for you?" Angela asked.

"No," Wilson said quickly. "At least, not yet."

Angela took a sip of her water. "What about House, has he ever been married?"

Wilson laughed, shaking his head. "No-ho-ho. No."

"Reluctant to commit?"

"Not exactly," Wilson admitted. "Maybe more reluctant to be committed _to_."

Angela nodded in apparent understanding. "Brennan's never been married, either."

Wilson leaned forward. "So, are she and Booth…"

Angela looked fondly over to where Booth and Brennan sat, slightly separated from the others, heads bent close together, laughing at a shared joke. "No," she said. "But it can be kind of hard to tell sometimes."

"I know what you mean," Wilson said with feeling.

* * *

"Oh, I've got another one for you." Cam took a gulp of her gin and tonic and pointed a finger at Cuddy. "Last year, Hodgins used melons as stand-ins for people's heads when he was trying to identify a murder weapon and blew one of them clear off."

"House once shot a cancer patient's corpse in the head. Try explaining _that_ to the funeral home."

"Hodgins and Brennan's former grad student blew up the lab."

"After House shot the corpse, he tried to scan the bullet-ridden body and blew up our MRI."

"Hodgins dropped a frozen turkey off the balcony to see how it would shatter, and it bounced and hit Angela in the face."

"House _punched_ Dr. Chase in the face. And that was because he was about to cut off a little girl's arm and leg with no medical justification but Dr. Chase stopped him. And then a week after that, he got caught stealing a dead patient's drugs, and I had to perjure myself to keep his ass out of jail." Cuddy ran out of breath and stopped, looking flustered.

"Wow. I think you win," Cam said.

"Yeah," Cuddy said, trying to smile. She downed the contents of her glass and signaled urgently for another.

* * *

House pushed open the door about half an hour behind everyone else, pausing to take stock of the situation before selecting a seat. He could see Booth and Brennan huddled together, oblivious to their surroundings; Cuddy chatting animatedly with her counterpart from the Jeffersonian, Chase looking unusually cheerful in the company of the curly-haired entomologist, and Wilson appearing all too captivated by the beautiful Eurasian artist at his side. (Near the end of the first trimester, if he was any judge.)

As his gaze swept over the small crowd, something about the way one of the scientists was eating his shrimp cocktail suddenly snagged his attention. House thought about it for a second, then allowed himself a half-smile. Catching the other man's eye, he pointed and mouthed silently, _"Page 187?"_ Hodgins squinted, blushed, then broke into a pleased, embarrassed grin and raised his glass.

House sat down next to Wilson, satisfied, and held up his hand for the bartender to bring him a beer.

* * *

THE END

**

* * *

Afterword: **

A professional writer acquaintance with little appreciation of fanfiction as a phenomenon recently read "Three Months" and expressed dissatisfaction with the lack of an original medical mystery, her favorite aspect of House M.D the show. I agreed that it would be great if I could come up with a plausible plot for a genuine casefic, but it took a while for inspiration to strike.

The described side effects from mefloquine (Lariam) are the real deal, although rare. A friend of mine was forced to return home early from Africa this past year because her paranoia from the drug became so debilitating. When Brennan came back from Indonesia at the beginning of the current season of Bones, I realized that it was the perfect opportunity to bring her in contact with the PPTH Diagnostics Department. However, the lack of synchrony between the shows' subjective timelines required a little fancy footwork on my part. My sincere apologies for any canonical inconsistencies that may have resulted.

Finally, I couldn't have done this alone - thanks very much to stenveny, jezziejay, and especially longtime RL beta Susanne for encouraging me to rise to the challenge and offering helpful suggestions, and to these friends plus yarroway and menolly_au for constructive criticism and positive feedback during the drafting process. If you enjoyed this story, please let us know!


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